Ah! I’ve just got home from a night out with the Gin Committee and I almost forgot that I had a blog entry due. If it wasn’t for the framed autographed picture of Douglas Fairbanks grinning down at me in his Zorro splendour I would have gladly put myself to bed. Excuse me while I pour another glass of this delicious cask. Ah, that’s better.

The Gin Committee are a bunch of ex-colleagues who, for one reason or another, quite gone from our working relationship, still seem to like each other. We meet periodically to share a bottle and chew the fat… well, Robert doesn’t chew the fat as he’s vegetarian; he just sort of admires it from afar. The funny thing is – I was thinking of this on the way home – we don’t actually drink gin. I’m sure we did once, a long time ago, but even when we all worked together we more often than not popped the cork on a bottle of wine than unscrewed a bottle of gin. Gin was more a special occasion thing – that is, when someone came back from overseas and picked some up in duty free. I suppose the name came and the name stuck, even if the product it refers to long went.

While others at work are counting down the hours till the razor (free to those who raise $50 or more) can slice away at their mo, I’m still not sure what I’ll do. I usually have a full beard, trimmed neatly, and I’m tossing up whether to just start the beard and let it catch up to the mo, or knock the mo on the head and start the whole thing afresh. Decisions decisions. But no matter how much others complain, I’ve enjoyed the mo-growing. It’s nice to have a purpose, don’t you think, and it’s nice to play with your appearance. Men can’t do a lot really besides grow their facial hair or wear a different coloured polo shirt. Most men don’t have the necessary volume of hair to blow-wave, rinse and set. Work usually doesn’t allow much beyond dark pants and a blue shirt – oh to wear stripes! – and ties too fancy are a sure sign of a troublemaker. We don’t paint our nails (well, I do, but I don’t count). We don’t have silly strappy shoes, but then again no one should wear silly strappy shoes – toes are not for show. We don’t wear chunky resin jewellery, and usually no more than a wedding band (regrettably, I haven’t the knuckles for rings). So really, all it boils down to is what we grow on our faces – our beards and mos – that allows us to stand out from the crowd.

Excuse me while I top up my glass. I keep the carton in the bedroom, you see, for easy reach. Some people count sheep blinking; I… well… amount cheap drinking.

(There’s a good gag buried in there somewhere but what I’ve come up with so far is shit and I’m way bloody too tired to care. Oscar Wilde was a genius of the play on words but I am not Oscar Wilde.)

Where was I? Oh yes. Now, I grow a beard for three reasons: 1) I’m attracted to men with facial hair; 2) I think I look very smart with a beard; and 3) I’m bugger too lazy to shave every day. I’m amazed that other people don’t grow their beards as some men look amazing with facial growth. It’s been an interesting month at work to demonstrate this: Brett looks incredibly handsome with his mo, John has a real debonair “Rhett Butler” thing happening, but then Bart… you can tell Bart’s not one with his mo. He seems to be growing some sort of handlebar number but it’s just not working. If he’d gone Salvador Dali instead – well – that would have been magnificent. Me; I miss the beard. My upper lip growth is too light to be overly impressive as a mo, and I’ve yet to talk myself into dying it… perhaps next year.

But, to all you magnificent people out there, it’s still not too late to sponsor. It’s for a good cause – an important cause – and it’s vital that we pay just as much attention to men’s health issues as we do for women’s. Bugger it – breast cancer gets their own brand of bottled bloody water, but, now that I think about it, I don’t think I really want to drink water that’s supporting prostate cancer.

Urgh!

Only one more Movember blog to go peoples and then it’s back to normal. Why not make it a great one and sponsor! Thanks for your support, Clyde.

I’m been obsessed with cooking these last few days, not that I’ve actually cooked anything. It’s all in the preparation, you see.

Actually, that’s not completely true – I have cooked one meal from pot to gut. On Monday I suddenly had this urge for some good ol’ traditional cooking so knocked up a batch of curried sausages. It’s been such a long time I’ve done them I thought I’d take the easy road and, as a sort of refresher, get the Continental packet mix and go from there. Still, I added a good sized shake of curry powder for that extra boost.

Funny thing was, tasting the sauce half-way through, they didn’t taste anything like the curried sausages I remember Mah making. Perhaps it was because I didn’t add the green apple? It tasted… well… sweet, but it didn’t taste bad. I put the dish back in the oven and started on the mashed potato.

Melanie rang. We were seeing a play the next day (Hedwig and the Angry Inch – a wonderful rock opera. Melanie was absolutely taken with it, I loved it just as much this second time as I did the first, and Melanie’s little friend complained about the farting man sitting next to her. Some people, hey) and, being of good country stock, I told her about my curried sausages. “Oooo,” she said, “Are you using Keen’s curry power?” “No,” I said as I reached for the cheaper brand, “It’s Clive of India… Ah.” “What’s wrong?” said Melanie. My face might have been my mother’s, it was so still. (Hedwig quote there) It was then that I realised why my curried sausages didn’t taste like they used to – I’d been adding mustard powder instead of curried powder.

Still, it was yummy.

Clyde’s Curried Mustard Sausages

According to the packet it serves 4 but I got 3 meals out of it.

1 packet Continental curried sausages recipe base

1 discounted tray of Coles chipolatas

2 medium onions, sliced

4 small carrots, sliced

2 Tbsp and another squirt of tomato sauce

Clive of India Authentic mustard powder

Clive of India Authentic curry powder, but hidden up the back of the cupboard behind the sesame oil and Worcestershire sauce

Preheat oven 180C.

Sauté the onions in a splash of oil.

In a bowl whisk up the packet mix with the tomato sauce and mustard powder. Wonder why it’s a strange yellow colour.

In a large casserole dish layer the chipolatas, carrot and cooked onion, then top with the sauce mix.

Bake in the oven for twenty minutes (after first putting the oven shelf on the lowest spot as your casserole dish is too big). Remove from oven and furrow brow when it doesn’t smell nothing at all curry-y. Give it a good stir under the assumption that all the curry flavouring has stuck to the bottom. Stick it back in for another half hour or so, or while you’re preparing the mashed potato and steamed broccoli.

Talk to friend on phone. Discuss meal. Realise what a dumbnut you are.

Dish and serve, at all times trying to convince yourself that you’ve just created an amazing new dish that’s going to catch on in all the best restaurants, and not that you simply reached for the wrong jar.

Getting back to the bit about me not cooking anything…

I’m attending a pot luck dinner on Saturday so I’ve decided to wow the audience with Delia Smith’s wonderful chocolate bread and butter pudding. I first made this for a Christmas roast I hosted last year and it was a great success. I’m hoping to next make it for the family Christmas desert. The b&b pud should work incredibly well for the pot luck dinner as all I’ll need to do is pop it in the oven for 30 minutes – it’s been congealing in the fridge since I prepared it last night. Tell you now kiddies – it’s a definite impresser.

Delia Smith’s Chocolate Bread and Butter Pudding

Serves 6

9 slices, each 5mm thick, good-quality white bread, 1 day old, taken from a large loaf

150g dark chocolate (75% cocoa solids)

75g butter

425ml pure cream

4 Tbsp dark rum

110g caster sugar

good pinch cinnamon

3 large eggs

double cream, well chilled, to serve

Remove the crusts from the slices of bread, which should leave you with 9 pieces about 10cm square. Cut each slice into 4 triangles.

Place the chocolate, whipping cream, rum, sugar, butter and cinnamon in a bowl set over a saucepan of barely simmering water, being careful not to let the bowl touch the water, until the butter and chocolate have melted and the sugar has completely dissolved. Remove the bowl from the heat and give it a really good stir to amalgamate all the ingredients.

In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs and then pour over the chocolate mixture and whisk again very thoroughly to blend all together.

Spoon about a 1cm layer of the chocolate mixture into the base of a lightly buttered 18x23x5cm ovenproof dish and arrange half the bread triangles over the chocolate in overlapping rows. Pour half the remaining chocolate mixture all over the bread as evenly as possible, then arrange the rest of the triangles over that, finishing off with a layer of chocolate. Use a fork to press the bread gently down so that it gets covered very evenly with the liquid as it cools.

Cover the dish with clingfilm and allow to stand at room temperature for 2 hours before transferring it to the fridge for a minimum of 24 (but preferably 48) hours before cooking. When you’re ready to cook the pudding, preheat oven 180C. Remove the clingfilm and bake in the oven on a high shelf for 30-35min, by which time the top will be crunchy and the inside soft and squidgy. Leave it to stand for 10min before serving with well-chilled double cream poured over.

Delia says: I have to thank Larkin Warren, a wonderful American chef, for her original recipe, which I have adapted. It is quite simply one of the most brilliant hot puddings ever invented. It’s so simple but so good – and even better prepared two days in advance. Serve in small portions because it is very rich. Though I doubt if there will be any left over, it’s also wonderful cold.

Clyde says: I serve this drizzled with a raspberry coulis. Traditionally you’re supposed to add sugar and other stuff but I just get a defrosted bag of frozen raspberries, blend, then push throw a sieve with the back of a spoon. The tartness complements the sweet pudding wonderfully, even though the combination of gooey brown chocolate, melting fatty cream and bright red sauce makes it look like an aborted brown baby.

Saturday night I’ve also got an Underbear dance party, at which I’m working the 3am to close door shift – I’ll get home some time between 8 and 10 Sunday morning . On top of that, a friend’s coming over that night for dinner and I don’t think I’m going to be in any great state to man a knife and hot stove by the evening. In the search for something easy but impressive to prepare, I’ve been inspired to adapt a recipe from the Sydney Morning Herald. It’s one of those great non-crucial timing type dishes. How’s this for a meal?:

Clyde’s steaks with capsicum relish, with quick couscous salad.

Serves 2 but they’ll be leftovers

beef sirloin steaks, half priced for a quicky sale

6 garlic cloves, chopped

1 Tbsp grated lemon rind

1 Tbsp black peppercorns

200ml olive oil, plus a little extra for drizzling

2 medium brown onions, chopped

salt

freshly ground white pepper

2 bay leaves

2 red capsicums (or 1 each of red and yellow), chopped

80g brown sugar

80ml red wine vinegar

1 cup couscous

dab of butter

2 handfuls rocket, washed

punnet cherry tomatoes, quarted

lemon juice

Crush four garlic cloves, lemon rind and peppercorns in a bowl and spread on steaks. Drizzle with olive oil and refrigerate overnight in that Tupperware marinader you bought months ago ‘cos you really really wanted it but has sat unused in its plastic wrapper ever since. A plate covered with cling wrap will do just as well.

For the relish: heat olive oil in a saucepan, add onion and remaining garlic and season. Cook until soft, about 10 minutes. Add bay leaves and capsicum and cook for a further five minutes. Add sugar and vinegar and simmer to reduce liquid, about 30 minutes.

Let a saucepan containing a bit over a cup of water and the dab of butter come to a boil, then stir through the couscous and stand covered for a few minutes. Flake with a fork. Allow to cool slightly. Before serving toss through the tomatoes, rocket, lemon juice and a small splash of oil.

Cook your steaks how you like them (I’m going rare that night… in more ways than one). Remove from heat and allow to rest for a few minutes. It’s very important you do this for two reasons: it softens the meat; and it allows you to finish the couscous salad.

While the steaks rest, set the table and pour the wine. Slice the steaks on an angle and display fanned on a bed of couscous salad. Top with a large spoon of the relish.

Clyde says: The relish will keep in the fridge for at least a week and is great with any grilled or cold meats and chicken.

With a bit of luck there’ll be some of the b&b pud left over and I can serve that with a scoop or two of vanilla ice cream. I really enjoy cooking, but the best part of cooking is cooking for other people.

Oh yes – the moustache is coming along nicely (better quickly tie this back to Movember). As it’s said: you don’t grow the moustache, the moustache grows you. At the moment mine’s decided on going high school teacher but is trying to settle itself down to what type. Should it go PE teacher – neat and trained; Art – clipped and sculptured; Mathematics – structured and ordered; Science – full yet singed; or English – wild and passionate?

If I’m really honest with myself my mo makes me look like a thinner faced version of me Dah. His moustache, when he had one, was a sensible structure, trimmed neatly at the lip join line. He grew a ginger moustache too but his was that colour by genetics, mine’s just because everything else grows red too.

That’s right, it’s Competition Time on Clyde The Penguin, and, as it’s Movember, we’re celebrating the GREAT MOS OF FILM AND TELEVISION!

But what’s in it for me? I hear you say. How about an all expenses paid trip to the Land of the Mo – sunny, swinging, hip and happening MOZAMBIQUE! Home of the second largest man-made lake in Africa and with more than 1,000 km of spectacular beaches, Mozambique is the ideal holiday destination for the scuba diver, fisherman, sailor and beach lover.

You and a friend will be staying 8 days and 7 nights at the centrally located Maputo B&B, complete with pool (table), garden (seat) and the best home cooked seafood in town. At nights you’ll dance away with the locals at Xima’s Bar, the home of the Piri-Piri Daiquiri. All this plus 5,000 MZN* in spending money!

Remember, Mozambique prides itself on having a less chance of being mugged, raped or murdered than other African countries. BYO water.**

The Competition

Below are 20 photos of mos – 19 from film and telly and one of my present mo. What your challenge is to:

find Clyde;

link the photo with both the character’s name and the film or TV show that he is from;

describe in 25 words or less what this collection of photos says about Clyde’s taste in DVDs.

Simple? You betcha!

The Photos

The Characters

The Films and Television Shows

Clyde …

David the Construction Worker

Otto

Jafar

Baron Munchausen

Floyd Pepper

Manny Bianco

Dread Pirate Roberts

Boris Badenov

Hercules

Captain Peacock

Geppetto

Edward D Wood Jr

Ming the Merciless

PT Flea

Aunty Jack

Snidley Whiplash

The Joker

Bambino (Trinity’s brother)

Mr Creosote

… The Penguin

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

Rocky & Bullwinkle & Friends (1)

Rocky & Bullwinkle & Friends (2)

Are You Being Served?

A Fish Called Wanda

Monty Python’s Meaning of Life

The Aunty Jack Show

Can’t Stop The Music

Hercules

Pinocchio

The Muppet Show

Black Books

They Call Me Trinity

Batman, The Movie

Flash Gordon

Ed Wood

Aladdin

The Princess Bride

A Bug’s Life

(Rocky & Bullwinkle gets two mentions as its villains have such great mos.)

BUT WAIT – THERE’S MORE! Think you’re up to the Ultimate Challenge? For those who can also tell me who played each character, there’s an extra special prize JUST FOR YOU!

Include your answers in the Comments Box below. Winners will be announced if anyone bothers to enter.

Best of luck, and don’t forget to sponsor! Thanks for your support, Clyde.

Last year in Australia 18,700 men were diagnosed with prostate cancer and more than 2,900 died of prostate cancer – equivalent to the number of women who will die from breast cancer annually.

To see the great impact that Movember has had, check out the details here.

Movember is proudly grown by Holden and Schick.

Movember is proud partners with the Prostate Cancer Foundation of Australia and beyondblue – the national depression initiative.

* Which is a little more than 300 AUD.

** I probably should say that this isn’t the real prize. The real prize will be just as exciting, but probably more on the lines of a nice meal. I would hate to think that any of the more unsavoury people out there would try to wrangle an African holiday out of me. Am I being overly cautious?

This was to be on time, but I fell asleep last night reading Jones Town. I’m sure I’m not the first person that Alan Jones has had that effect on.

I had my first Movember shave on Saturday. It was Katy’s 30th birthday party and I wanted to look my best: I has been promised the chance of meeting some policemen out of uniform. There were two concerns: (1) it was far far away in Cronulla (a little over an hour away by train in the middle of Redneck Territory); and (2) it was fancy dress, which meant I would have to wear my costume on the train. So I decided to simply wear all green and go as Kermit the Frog.

About half way into the journey a dozen handsome young men tumbled into the carriage and I was suddenly enclosed in a boisterous tornado of testosterone. I’m not sure if they were coming home from the races or heading out for the night as half were dressed smart in suits and ties, the rest in jeans and t-shirts. Sitting on the seats in front, behind and next to me, they proceeded to leap about, play punch, wrestle, and press foreheads together while telling each other they love them. It was all very strange and, frankly, they are so blind to how absolutely gay their actions were. To cherry the cake, the ones not in suits, dressed casually, were wearing their jeans so low they could have been auditioning for Kristen Bjorn*. The irony I suppose is that every one of them seeped masculinity. It made me think of a passage in Quentin Crisp’s The Naked Civil Servant. Unfortunately it’s packed away so I’ll get the quote wrong, but he closes one chapter by arguing that a gay man is always going to be a secondary creature to a straight man as the straight man (if I remember correctly) has nothing to prove, while a gay man has always to defend his position in the world. The gay man can never compete with a straight man’s confidence, reassurance, and self importance, and so will never be anything more than a poor copy; never equal and, most definitely, never better. On reading that I threw the book across the room in disgust and that’s where it laid for the next few years, discarded amongst the old shoes. I was only a couple of years old at the time (in gay years) and the last thing I needed was one of my gods to tell me I was worthless. I’m older and know differently now. Quentin was another time.

Anyway, back to the train trip…

So there’s these dozen blokes, the oldest not more than 22; and here’s me dressed in a green top and 70’s moss green jacket, in my pocket the rest of my costume – a green felt triangular cut collar, and a white Christmas bauble cut in half stuck on a green hair band with eyes drawn on in black texta. I’m doing my best to listen to my ipod and ignore their shenanigans, one of which was sticky taping the carriage doors shut (it was pretty funny watching people trying to get in). Suddenly – flump! – one of them’s next to me and nudging me with his elbow. “My hand still hurts, mate,” he said, showing me his bruised knuckles. I asked how did it happen. “I punched someone,” he said and gave a quick demonstration by thumping the back of the seat. “Well, that was pretty stupid then, wasn’t it?” I said. He mumbled a yeah then went and sat somewhere else.

A while later – flop! – another one. “Irishman?” he said, and then again before I realised he was talking to me. “Sorry?” I asked. “Irishman?” he repeated, waving with his hand at my complete green attire. “You an Irishman?” “No,” I said, taking out my Christmas bauble/hair band eyes. “I’m Kermit the Frog.”

Look, not wanting to harp on about this but not many people can catch a train on a Saturday evening wearing a moss green jacket and carrying a pair of hand made frog eyes stuck on a cheap head band, while listening to Bananarama and The Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, sporting a bad moustache, and maintain a friendly yet assertive facade to a dozen half-drunk adrenaline-pumped bully boys. Up your nose with a rubber hose Crispy!

This was supposed to be a happy update; it sort of turned into one of those blurt blogs, didn’t it? I’ll just say that Katy looked absolutely beautiful in her French Maid’s costume. She’s definitely no longer that pugnacious 10 year old I once knew, but I’m no longer that repugnant 15 year old I once was.

All us Bros took some photos at work of how our mos are growing. My big problem is mine is so light in colour. It’s pay day today – did someone say “Just for Men – Beards”?…

If I can get the photos I’ll pop them up next time, and don’t forget to sponsor! Thanks for your support, Clyde.

Damn this social life, it keeps getting in the way of my blog entries. First it was the GSN AGM (last weekend highlight that); this time it was the year’s final uni class, so we all went out for a few bevvies afterwards (I was very “emotional” this morning and am having a quiet one in tonight). I suppose I could just call this entry “Day 7”, but I devised a entry plan at the beginning of the month and I’m sticking to it. I don’t think any one minds.

I haven’t shaved yet, so at the moment I have a head like a kiwifruit. The soft fuzz is actually quite sensual to stroke. Clean cheeks tomorrow night though as I have a 30th birthday fancy dress party (I’m going as Kermit the Frog) and I want to look my best.

I must have a slow growth. Either that or I’m impatient. Of the fellers at work some have already got a rather respectable mo going. We’re taking a photo next week as a sort of work-in-progress. Also, a few people aren’t prepared to sponsor us until they see some effort for their money. Maybe you’re one of them? But it’s happening… slowly, but it’s happening.

Found an interesting piece on how to make your facial hair grow faster. Apparently it’s as simple as five easy steps:

Apply eucalyptus oil to your beard growth. The eucalyptus oil may stimulate the epidermal layer of the skin to speed up the hair-growing process. (This will produce a tingling sensation.)

Purchase and consume a daily supplement of biotin. Biotin is a dietary supplement that can help promote hair growth (as well as nail growth). The recommended dosage is 2.5 mg a day.

Shampoo and condition your growing beard. This will help keep it clean and shiny-looking. Plus, the conditioning process should encourage growth by preventing the hair from becoming too dry.

Eat healthy. If your body is getting the nutrients it needs, it will function better. This means every process will work better, including that of growing facial hair. Make sure you eat plenty of green vegetables and get enough protein.

Drink plenty of water. Water helps every system in the body work better. It will also keep hair healthy and moisturized, including hair on the face.

I don’t know if I’m up for supplements yet, but I’m all for rubbing my face in oil. Unfortunately I haven’t got any eucalyptus oil so I’ve been using goanna oil instead. I’m sure it will do the same trick.

Someone told me the reason I have such little growth is that, being unshaven for so long, the hair has gone into shock. And then I found this article – scientific proof that it’s not true. How fantastic is that! You see, the internet if for more than just porn, it’s for looking up info on beard growth too, though looking at the rest of this site, it’s definite wank fodder for the discerning pognophile.

What else this week? Nothing really, just worked on my uni piece. Now that uni’s done I can dedicate all my time to the real mo growing. I should be preparing the walls for painting but any distraction from that is a good thing.

Oh, it was my parent’s anniversary on Tuesday. Happy 36th anniversary Mah and Dah! In all the hubbub of Melbourne Cup Day (I’ve got the office sweep down to a fine art after my sixth year running it) I completely forgot. I was so tired when I got home I was tucked up asleep by 6 o’clock. Only realised yesterday when I opened my calendar I’d missed the day. So I hope it was a good one.

Right, I’m off to Coles to buy some ping pong balls. See you in four days (I promise to write on time in future) and don’t forget to sponsor! Thanks for your support, Clyde.

Men lack awareness about the very real health issues they face. There is an attitude that they have to be tough – “a real man” – and are reluctant to see a doctor about an illness or go for regular medical checks.

Movember aims to change these attitudes and make men’s health fun by putting the Mo back on the face of fashion and in the process raise some serious funds for key men’s health issues, including:

Prostate Cancer: because every year 2,900 Australian men die from prostate cancer and over 18,000 men will be diagnosed with prostate cancer.

Depression in Men: because one in six men experience depression at any given time but most don’t seek help.

As you can see, it’s a very important thing to support.

Last year I raised over $500 through the sponsorship of my mo growth. I kept a diary of the event, but this year – I’VE GOT A BLOG!

Also this year I’ve got my entire work Branch involved, forming a team – Statewide Moustaches. Details on how to sponsor are here.

So where to begin my mo story? How about: Friday 31 October 2008, at my friend Joe’s place in Blackheath, a little after 10pm, I shave off my beard so I could start the first day of Movember fresh as a dewy daisy.

Before:

After:

Pretty sexy, hey?

Admittedly, I probably could have done with the extra layer of fuzz as it got bloody cold the next day. I was in Blackheath, up in the Blue Mountains, for the annual Rhododendron Festival. Actually, all I really wanted to see was the Rhodo Princess, a right of passage for only the purest of the Blackheath lady folk. The Rhodo Princess gets to lead the Festival parade, waving fondly at the crowds from the back of a ute – followed by a motley collection of infants school students, SES volunteers, bag pipe bands, vintage cars and plumbing supply companies – down the main street of Blackheath and all the way to the spectacular Rhododendron Garden – which I can personally vouch for being (1) a garden; (2) full of rhododendrons; and (3) spectacular – where she is then sacrificed to the Gods in the hope of a good harvest the following year. Why this event hasn’t been shut down by the Authorities I will never know, but the Rhodo Princess did look a princess, right up to the minute they sheared off her head. This is why it’s very important for the Rhodo Princess to wear a red dress.

That night I was back in the city for the GSN AGM, where I spent a great deal of the time talking to a stutterer about 30’s and 40’s films, and being spat on by a gentleman whose teeth didn’t fit his gums. I’d met a number of those present before when I went to Capertee Valley (more on this later) but few remembered me because of my new baby bum complexion (a terrible expression; why anyone would want to have skin smeared in sloppy green shit I will never know). It was a good night and I got to raise the issue of Movember – a large number of the men present are definitely in the danger zone age for prostate cancer – so I advised them to get a finger up their date as soon as possible, to which a couple went upstairs and started immediately. I clarified I meant a doctor’s finger but they didn’t seem to mind.

Joe stayed the night at my place, which was nice. I walked him to his car around noon, then did a bit of grocery shopping. When I got home the lovely Anna and the gorgeous Robin rang to say they were in the city (from UK) and would I fancy a coffee. As important as getting this blog entry was – it’s already a day late – I figured another hour or so wouldn’t harm. They’re well and both send their love.

Next weekend I’ve got a fancy dress party. By then I will only have the fluffiest of fluffy moustaches, so any costume ideas would be greatly appreciated.

See you in four days and don’t forget to sponsor! Thanks for your support, Clyde.